


Somewhere Only We Know

by grungelarents



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Established Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Larry Stylinson Is Real, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:07:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28757832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grungelarents/pseuds/grungelarents
Summary: The one where Harry and Louis fly to Jamaica in a last ditch attempt to revive their crumbling relationship while Harry writes his first solo album.Also known as the Jamaica fic
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Sarah Jones/Mitch Rowland
Kudos: 26





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I read a thread on Jamaica Larry and I came up with this idea. It’s something I’ve been toying around with for a bit so I hope you enjoy it. It’s set at the end of 2016/beginning of 2017 (when larry went to jamaica) for questions, comments, and seeing me rant about my love for zayn, feel free to interact with me on twitter @grungelarrie. Happy reading :)

Jamaica.

With its pristine white beaches, luxurious resorts, mouth- watering food and lively culture, it’s a perfect destination for anyone looking for a nice holiday, and its year round sun makes it an ideal place for getting away from all that snow.

It has something for everyone, from museums and caves for explorers to high-end shops and local brands for the fashion forward

It welcomes everyone to come and discover what treasures lay within. Jamaica is ready for everyone.

Jamaica is ready for Louis and Harry.

However, Louis and Harry are not ready for Jamaica.


	2. one

The jet touches the runway, taxiing for three minutes until it comes to a complete stop. The door opens almost immediately and out walks a brown-haired man in a white t-shirt and track pants. With a tattooed hand, he shields his eyes from the harsh sunlight and takes in the view in front of him. He’s enjoying himself, feeling like he’s on top of the world. Everything’s perfect.

Until…

“Louis!” a voice yells from inside the plane. “Come take your bloody bag and let’s get off this thing.”

Louis sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, exasperated. “Jesus Harry it’s just one box. Can’t you help me?”

“No come do it yourself. I didn’t come to Jamaica to be your personal servant.”

Louis rolls his eyes and steps back into the jet to get his bag. It’s luxurious, equipped with cream furnishings and even a snack bar. Harry is still on his seat, typing away at his phone. He tries to get a better look but he shifts it away and glares at him.

“Mind your damn business Tomlinson,” Harry growls.

Louis scoffs. “Oh so it’s surnames now.”

“Must you know everything I’m doing? You know sometimes I feel like you don’t trust me.”

“Oh yeah? And whose fault is that?”

The accusation stings but Harry refuses to let it show.

“Really Lou? We’re doing this right now?”

“I’m not doing shit. I just asked you nicely to help me bring my box and you erupted like you always do.”

“Well it’s not my fault you’re so fucking needy.”

Louis laughs, a cold mirthless sound. “Needy. Right.” He turns around and walks off.

“Where are you going?” Harry calls after him.

“To the cockpit. I’m asking the pilot to take me back to London. This was obviously a mistake. We’re through.”

In a flash Harry is out of his seat. He runs to Louis, panic in his eyes, and grabs his hand. Louis pulls it away instantly and flashes him a nasty look that makes his heart seize in fear.

This can’t be how it ends.

They came to Jamaica so Harry could write his first album without the rest of the boys, yes, but more importantly, they came to try and fix their relationship away from the prying eyes of the media and fans. It’s been on the rocks for a while now. Ever since Louis’ mum fell ill, things haven’t been the same between them. Every time Harry tried to offer comfort, Louis just pushed him away until he stopped trying entirely. Then the fighting started, Zayn left, and the band broke up. Things went from bad to worse and the end was in sight.

But Jamaica is a new opportunity, a chance to start again. Harry wants things to go back to the way they were when they first met, two giggling teenage boys who had just met, who had stumbled over their words in pathetic attempts at flirting, who had just discovered what it meant to fall and be in love. Harry wants that for them.

His worst fear is that Louis doesn’t seem to want that too.

“Louis please,” he begs. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s all I hear from you these days,” Louis sighs. “I’m tired.”

“Please. It can’t end like this. We promised we would try.”

“Harry-”

“Lou listen to me. If you go back to London now, it’s over. Everything we’ve worked for, all the memories we have, all the love we share will be in vain.”

Louis rolls his eyes, but this time it’s to stop the tears from gushing out. “We don’t love each other anymore Harry. What we had is dead.”

The words hurt but Harry has to keep trying to convince him. “That’s not true,” he says. “I love you Louis, and I know deep down you still love me. Do you want to spend the rest of your life wondering what might have happened if we had tried? Is that what you want?”

“No,” he says, but it’s not very enthusiastic.

“Do it for yourself, if not for me. You owe it to yourself to see this relationship out to the very end, and this is not the end. We’re Harry and Louis for fuck’s sake. We’re going to go out with a bang, not in a bloody aeroplane.”

“It’s Louis and Harry,” Louis mumbles and Harry smiles, realizing that he’s started to convince him. He takes both of Louis’ hands in his and he doesn’t pull away this time.

“I don’t want you to live the rest of your life in regret. So please. One last chance is all I want for us. And if it doesn’t work out then you can leave and I’ll let you.”

“And you’ll let me?”

Harry nods. “And I’ll let you.”

Louis sighs and rubs a hand over his face. He really doesn’t see how their relationship can go back to the way it was but if it means so much to Harry then he’s willing to try one last time.

“Fine. But if this doesn’t work we’re through.”

They stand in silence for a few minutes, neither knowing what to say to each other. Harry almost wants to cry about how painfully awkward it is. There was always a joke or a compliment or an ‘I love you’ to be shared between them. Now all they have is silence and it’s eating at him.

It’s sad, really.

“Shall we go?” Louis finally asks, clapping his hands together. He grabs his bag and begins to make his way to the door of the plane with Harry following suit. They stand at the top of the stairs for a moment before going down, enjoying the view in front of them. It’s beautiful.

They were once beautiful.

“Here’s to not fucking this up,” he says, clenching his hand and extending it for a fist bump to Harry, who stares at him while biting his lip in an attempt to not burst into tears.

It’s awful, really.

Louis slowly redacts his fist and coughs awkwardly. “Are you going to go down?” he asks.

“Oh right, sorry.”

Louis watches Harry as he descends the stairs and makes his way across the runway to the arrival gate. It’s nice that they’re both willing to try but he knows that tomorrow they’ll be back to short tempers and snide remarks, and Louis isn’t sure that he’s ready for that.

It’s shitty, really.

When they get to the parking lot, there are two black Range Rovers waiting for them. He raises an eyebrow at Harry.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to ride together,” Harry explains. His face falls when Louis sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he hastily apologizes. “I can send one back if you’d like.”

“No, no,” Louis says, waving him away and heading to one of the cars. “It’s fine. Let’s just go.”

Normally he’s used to driving without Harry. They usually weren’t allowed to travel together in the band, but these are different circumstances so it’s just weird.

His phone rings, saving him from having to make conversation with the driver.

“Hi Daisy,” he greets, shushing the driver so he can hear.

“Hi Louis. How’s Jamaica?”

“Haven’t seen much of it. Just got here.”

“What’s your hotel like?”

“I don’t know. Harry booked it.”

“Oh. Are you having a good time so far?”

“Not really.”

“Okay cut the bullshit. What’s wrong Lou? Is it you and Harry again?”

Louis sighs. He’s always hated the way his sisters can read him like an open book.

“Of course it is. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice that he wants to try, but I don’t see the point. We had our time and now we’re through.”

“God don’t be so negative Louis. You and Harry are soulmates. I’m sure you’ll work it out. Besides, even if you don’t at least you can still be friends right?”

“I’m not so sure,” he scoffs.

“But you have to at least be friends!” she exclaims, bewildered. “You’re Harry and Louis.”

“It’s Louis and Harry! Why does everyone keep saying the wrong thing?”

“What about the fans? What will they do when they see you’ve broken up?”

“We never came out to them anyway. They’ll be fine,” he answers, ignoring the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“You know they’ll notice. When your songs stop being about each other.”

“Look Daisy, I really don’t want to talk about this right now. I’ll call you later.”

“Can I at least say hi to Harry first?”

“He’s not here.”

“I thought you travelled together?”

“Yeah but he’s in another car.”

“Why?”

“He didn’t think I would want to drive with him after staying with him in a plane for six hours. I guess he wanted to give me some space.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

And it’s so painfully awkward and so, so strange that Louis wants to burst into tears.

“Don’t worry. It’s just a hard time for both of you. You’ll get through it.”

“Sure, whatever.”

“Doubter.”

“Shut up.”

“God Lou. Always so negative. Talk later?”

“Yeah sure. I love you.”

“Love you too. Bye.”

Just as he hangs up the call, they get to the resort. The driver comes out and opens the door for Louis. Harry watches his movements as he drags his small frame out of the car, the way he runs his hands through his hair to make it look better even though it’s already perfect, the way his muscles twitch and flex as he stretches. He stares at his eyes for a moment, stunning blue eyes that have looked at him with every emotion in the book; love, anger, fondness, exasperation.

He’s beautiful.

Harry absolutely cannot lose him.

Louis, meanwhile, takes in the beautiful architecture of the building in front of him. It’s modern, with tall glass windows, but there’s an air of elegance about it, the kind that only comes with age. The resort has been here a long time, no doubt.

His eyes move down to the grey stone fountain in front of him. Looking closer, he realizes that the bottom is filled with coins. Louis digs into the pocket of his track pants and pulls out two pence, one for him and one for Harry. He tosses them in and watches as they sink to the bottom, mingling with all the other coins and wishes.

“What did you wish for?” says a deep voice from behind him.

Louis turns to Harry and smirks. “If I told you, it wouldn’t come true.”

The inside of the hotel is even more magnificent than its exterior. The reception is lit with three giant crystal chandeliers. The furniture is a mix of expensive pieces and things that look like they were purchased at a junk shop, giving it a homey feel. Priceless artworks line the walls.

“Good evening and welcome to the Old Palace resort,” a friendly receptionist greets as they approach the front desk.”

“Hello,” responds Harry. “I booked a suite here under Harry Styles. Presidential, I think.”

“Ah Mr. Styles. We’ve been expecting you.” The lady claps her hands twice, and out of nowhere two bellhops appear and take their bags, much to Louis’ irritation. He can do things by himself, thank you very fucking much.

A waiter appears and hands them two glasses of champagne. Harry smiles at Louis nervously, hoping he likes it.

After collecting their keycards, they’re led into an elevator and up to their suite. The bellhops deposit their bags in the living room, then go, leaving the pair alone.

Louis looks round the room, hands on his hips. “Alright. It’s nice. Not too keen on the curtains though.”

“I like them,” Harry argues, defensive.

“Of course you would,” he scoffs. “You were the one that picked out those ugly ass throw pillows in our living room.”

“They’re not ugly,” he gasps in offence. “They’re really pretty and I got a really good deal on them.”

“That doesn’t make them any less ugly.”

“Are you saying I have no taste?”

“Absolutely.”

Harry picks up a pillow from an armchair and throws it at Louis. It hits him square in the forehead and he gasps.

“Oi! Oh now you’ve done it.”

Pretty soon, the room is a mess and Harry and Louis are laying on the floor side-by-side, breathing heavily.

“Fuck you,” Louis laughs, swatting Harry’s shoulder gently.

“You called my pillows ugly. That’s the least of what you deserve.”

They lay in silence for a few minutes, each one lost in thought.

“Hey Harry?”

“Yes Louis?”

“What are you thinking about?”

“I realized I haven’t told you thank you for giving us another chance. I know I’ve been a real dick these past few months, and I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. I really haven’t been that good either.”

“I know,” snorted Harry, earning him a swat on his shoulder from his boyfriend.

More silence.

Then “Hey Harry?”

“Yes Louis?”

“Want to know what I’m thinking about?”

Harry laughs. “What are you thinking about Louis?”

“How to burn those ugly pillows at home without you finding out.”

“Of course you are,” he says, more than a hint of fondness in his voice.

More silence.

Then “Hey Harry?”

This time, there’s no answer. Louis glances at Harry, smiling to himself when he realizes he has fallen asleep. It would be pointless to try and get him to the room-heavy fucker-so Louis stands up and grabs a blanket from the nearby couch and drapes it over him. He stoops down and gives him a soft kiss on the lips. Harry stirs but he doesn’t wake up.

“Goodnight angel. Sweet dreams.”


	3. two

Harry wakes up at around nine thirty in the morning with a throbbing back. The AC is on full blast, the living room is a mess, and Louis has apparently left the balcony door open because it’s way brighter than it should be.

“Louis,” Harry calls, but his voice is hoarse so it comes out more like a whisper. He clears his throat and tries again.

“Louis!”

“In the kitchen,” the familiar voice answers him back.

With all the strength he can muster, Harry lifts himself off the ground and makes his way to the kitchen. Louis is at the island drinking a glass of water and talking to someone on his phone.

“Morning babe,” he greets cheerily.

“Mmmm,” Harry groans, leaning in for a quick kiss. He takes the glass of water from his hand and chugs it down quickly, then glances at Louis’ phone, grinning when he realizes who he’s talking to.

“Nialler!” he exclaims, giving him a small wave.

“Hi Harry. Sleep well?”

“I slept on the fucking floor Niall. How do you think I slept?”

“So brilliantly then?” Niall deadpans and rolls his eyes.

“Breakfast?” Harry asks Louis, steadfastly ignoring his blonde friend. He was too tired and too achy for Niall’s blend of sarcasm and humor.

“We can go down to the restaurant if you’d like,” Louis suggests.

“Sure, let me just shower real quick then we can go.” He turns to leave the kitchen, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl before he goes.

“Your phone’s on the nightstand in your bedroom. It was ringing so I turned it off.”

Harry’s eyes widen. “Who was calling?”

Without waiting for Louis to answer, he dashes to his bedroom, locates his phone and powers it on, praying that no one important had called while he was asleep.

Apparently God is on vacation as well because when he turns on his phone, he realizes that his prayers have not been answered and his face pales in horror.

Fifty missed calls and even more texts. All from his manager and his record label.

Shit.

He quickly dials Jeff back and sits on the bed, running his hands through his hair worriedly and mentally chanting ‘oh shit’. Jeff picks on the third ring.

“Hi Jeff,” Harry greets cautiously.

“Where the hell have you been Harry?” His voice is loud and angry, and Harry knows he’s in serious trouble.

“I overslept,” he answers meekly.

“Overslept? I’ve been trying to reach you for thirty minutes! You’re late for the meeting. Did you forget?”

Harry groans out loud and pushes his wild curls away from his face. He had totally forgotten he was supposed to have a meeting with his new label this morning to discuss the first album before they finally left him in peace to create music.

“Fucking hell yes I did. Where are you now?”

“Boardroom on the ground floor. Why didn’t you pick your calls?”

“Louis turned off my phone.”

“Of course,” Jeff answers through gritted teeth.

Jeff has never been a big fan of Louis, and vice versa. The two have always butted heads about what was best for Harry ever since they were in One Direction. In fact, Harry signing Jeff as his new manager was one of the reasons their relationship had gone downhill.

“I told you not to bring him on this trip. I said he would only be a distraction, but no, you were so determined to bring your bloody boyfriend and now look what he’s done!”

“Hey don’t talk about him that way. It’s not his fault.”

“Well excuse me, but who turned off your phone? And I’m sure the fucker saw it was me calling as well.”

Harry pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. He has to admit that this is, in fact, both their faults.

“We were both responsible Jeff. Look, I’ll be there soon. Give me ten minutes.”

“You have five.”

Jeff hangs up the call abruptly and Harry buries his face in his hands and screams in frustration. When he looks back up, Louis is hovering in the doorway, a nervous expression on his face.

“Harry-” Louis begins but is cut off by his sharp voice.

“Did you know it was Jeff calling me?”

“You looked so tired, and I thought-”

“Did you know he needed me for a meeting?”

“Harry I’m so sorry. You just looked so tired last night and I thought extra sleep would do you good.”

Harry raises a finger to his lips, signaling for Louis to be silent. “Please leave.”

“Please Harry-”

“Before I say something I will regret, please leave.”

Without another word, Louis makes his way to the living room, cursing internally. He should have woken Harry up immediately Jeff called but he looked so peaceful and Louis didn’t want to disturb him.

He’s proud of Harry though. Everyone has their flaws, and Harry’s is that he tends to say the cruelest things whenever he’s extremely angry. He knows exactly what to say to break a person and Louis has borne the brunt of his harsh words severally ever since they started fighting. The fact that he’d held the words in even though he obviously wanted to erupt shows how hard he’s fighting for their relationship, how much he’s willing to change.

But of course, Louis is the fucker-upper. They were finally getting along and now he’s gone and done this. He tries to blink back the tears but to no avail.

A few minutes later, Harry storms out of his room and into the living room. Louis’ heart surges with hope when he sees him.

“Harry? Can we talk please?”

No answer.

The silent treatment. Okay then.

“Fuck I’m sorry. I should have woken you up instead of turning off your phone. It wasn’t my place to. Please forgive me?”

Still no answer.

After closing the balcony doors, Harry walks over to the table by the door and picks up his keycard and his wallet.

“Harry?”

But Louis is still ignored, and his heart breaks when Harry walks out without so much as a single glance towards him, slamming the door behind him.

Well fuck.

Immediately his sadness gives way to anger. He flips off the closed door and flops onto the couch.

Fuck Harry. So he wants to give Louis the silent treatment? Well two can play at that game.

***

Harry storms into the waiting area, ignoring the friendly greeting of the receptionist. He’s in no mood for pleasantries right now.

Fuck Louis fucking Tomlinson.

Deep down, Harry knows that he is overreacting and that it was quite bitchy to give his boyfriend the silent treatment like that but he’s still too pissed off to care.

It’s not just that Louis turned off his phone. It was his bloody manager calling to remind him of a meeting that they had and he knew yet he didn’t wake up Harry. Signing with Columbia was a new beginning, a chance to make the music he had always dreamed of, a chance to leave his boyband past behind, even though he would always be proud of it. And he was already messing it up.

So fuck Louis fucking Tomlinson.

He finally finds the boardroom and as soon as he steps inside, all eyes turn to him. The looks of the two label executives spell pure disgust at his disheveled appearance and Jeff glares at him with a mixture of annoyance and anger.

So much for new beginnings.

“Glad you could join us Mr. Styles,” says a lady with greying hair in a cold voice. “Hope we didn’t keep you waiting.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles and slumps into a seat beside his manager.

“I apologize on behalf of my client for his lateness,” Jeff says all business-like. He shoots Harry, who has the grace to blush, another sharp glare for his half-hearted apology.

“Sit down Jeff. Let’s not waste any more time.” The middle aged man in the sharp black suit opened the file in front of him and glanced at the piece of paper inside.

“We’ve called this meeting because we want to see how far along you’ve gone in your songwriting. We want to know if you’ll be needing any extra help so we can fly in some songwriters for you.” He closes his file and leans back in his seat, rubbing his hands together. “So what have you got for us?”

They all raise eyebrows at Harry in expectation and he laughs nervously.

“The truth is I don’t have much yet, but I promise I will before the end of this week.”

That’s far-fetched and he knows it. Songwriting is a creative process. He can’t just sit and scribble random words into his book. He has to wait for inspiration to strike before he can come up with anything even remotely good. New songs by the end of the week is a stretch, even for him.

The record execs sigh in exasperation and Jeff buries his face in his hands.

Shit.

“Mr. Styles, I need you to listen clearly,” the old woman says. “We have given you chance and chance again but you have failed to come up with new material for the past three months. If we don’t see at least four new songs by the next meeting, we’ll be forced to drop you from the label. Here at Columbia, we take music production very seriously and if you can’t meet up, then maybe you should take your talents somewhere else.”

Harry and Jeff listen openmouthed, eyes widened in shock.

Dropped before the first single is released. That has to be some sort of record.

The man and woman stand to leave and Jeff rushes out after them, trying to negotiate.

Harry slumps lower in his seat. This holiday is already shitty and he’s barely even started. What’s worse, he’s finally realized that he’s totally in the wrong and now he has to go beg for Louis’ forgiveness because he can’t lose him.

His manager walks back in, an angry look on his face. “It’s that boyfriend of yours,” he spits. “He’s fucking everything up.”

“Don’t talk about him that way,” Harry orders in a stern voice.

“What way? Don’t you see what’s happening here? You’re in danger of being dropped from your label and you haven’t even released your first album! You want to throw away everything we’ve worked for just because of some piece of-”

“Hey!” Harry roars, jumping out of his seat. “I said don’t fucking talk about him like that! Louis is nothing like that! He’s wonderful and sweet and smart and kind and…”

He breaks off and his shout turns into a sob. “He's everything. I just…I just can’t lose him.”

Jeff softens, because even though he dislikes Louis, he genuinely cares about Harry and hates seeing him like this.

“Listen, I get it. And I’m sorry. But you can’t just throw it all away. Maybe you both just need some space from each other.”

He shakes his head stubbornly. “No. We came here to try and fix things.”

“But it’s clearly tearing you apart Harry. You need to ask yourself what exactly you’re fighting for, and whether it’s worth it. Some things just can’t be fixed.

And with that, Jeff walks out of the boardroom leaving Harry alone to ponder the million dollar question: are he and Louis doomed?

***

Harry stops when he gets to the door of the suite, mentally prepping himself. He’s rehearsed his apology perfectly and he can only hope that Louis will forgive him.

He’s ready.

But as soon as he opens the door, he realizes that he has not anticipated what he would be returning to.

The room is a flurry of activity, even though Louis is the only one there. Two MacBooks are on the coffee table, there’s an amp plugged into the wall, speakers are blasting music and there are papers everywhere. In the midst of the chaos sits Louis, hastily scrabbling words onto a piece of paper, brow furrowed in concentration, eyes alight with excitement.

“Louis!” Harry yells, walking over to the sound system to turn the music down. As soon as Louis realizes that his beloved Oasis is not blasting anymore, he looks up and stares at Harry in annoyance.

“Hi,” Harry says.

Louis rolls his eyes and returns back to his piece of paper.

“Uh hi,” he tries again, but to no avail.

Louis is giving him the silent treatment back.

Well then.

“I, uh, I know you’re mad, and you have every right to be. I just wanted to say I’m really sorry. I should have talked shit out with you, instead of giving you the silent treatment.”

No answer.

“Louis?”

Nothing.

“I love you?”

Still nothing.

Harry sighs in defeat. He walks to his room, grabs his guitar and walks back to the living room.

“I’m going out to the balcony to do some writing. Shout out if you need anything. I’m always here.”

And Harry knows that Louis is not going to call him. He knows that Louis doesn’t need him and would probably be fine if they parted ways. But Louis owns his heart and mind and soul and Harry would be finished without him. But he’s still putting himself out there. Just in case.

He slides the glass door of the balcony open and steps outside. The Jamaica sunshine is warm and there’s a nice breeze in the air. It’s a beautiful day.

Harry sits down on one of the lounge chairs and flips his notebook open. He’s only got one song so far, which he wrote back in the band, and he’s not really sure how he feels about it. He tunes the guitar, clears his throat and begins to sing the chorus.

_We’re not who we used to be_

_We’re not who we used to be_

_We’re just two ghosts standing in the place of you and me_

_We’re not who we used to be_

_We don’t see what we used to see_

_We’re just two ghosts standing in a glass half empty_

_Trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat_

It’s sad bordering on nostalgic. He wrote it just before the hiatus, after him and Louis’ worst fight ever. It’s about how their relationship changed over time until it was barely even existing anymore. It’s about not being able to communicate with him. It’s about missing him and missing what they used to be. It’s all the things he wants to say to Louis but will never have the courage to.

“That’s nice,” says a voice from behind him, interrupting his train of thoughts. He looks at Louis and rolls his eyes.

“So you’re talking to me again?”

“Shut up.”

He walks over to Harry and makes him move over so he can sit beside him on the lounge chair. “That was really good. What was it?”

“It’s called Two Ghosts.”

“Mmmm. It’s about you and me isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for a few moments, each lost in thought. Harry looks down at Louis’ hand beside his and wonders if he would pull away if he tried to hold it.

“How was your meeting?” he finally asks.

Harry chuckles. “They said if I don’t come up with anything new before the end of this week, they’ll drop me from the label.”

Louis’ blue eyes widen in shock. “Shit can they do that?”

“Apparently,” he responds drily.

“Sorry I turned off your phone and made you late.”

“It’s okay. You were just looking out for me.”

“You’ve been stressing so much Harry. About your album, about us. We’re on holiday for crying out loud.” Louis grabs his hand and intertwines it with his. “Just stop. Enjoy it. Take some time off, come to the beach with me, buy expensive Gucci shit or whatever. Do what makes you happy.”

“Being with you makes me happy,” Harry blurts and mentally kicks himself as soon as the words leave his mouth. But judging from the way Louis’ eyes lit up as soon as he said them, he’s guessing he didn’t say the wrong thing.

“Then spend time with me. Stop worrying about what’s going to happen to us and live in the moment with me. We’ll sort it out. We’re Harry and Louis for fucks sake.”

“I thought we were Louis and Harry?”

“Shut up. And as for your songwriting, you can’t force things like that. It’ll come naturally. You said you’re meeting with your band tomorrow?”

“Yeah I am. They flew in today.”

“Then someone’s bound to have an idea or two. Stop worrying H. You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. I promise.”

And Louis says this with so much confidence and so much love that Harry finds himself believing him.

“Okay. I trust you.”

Louis smiles at him and leans in for a quick kiss, then stands up and makes his way to the railing of the balcony. His white t-shirt flutters in the wind, his short brown hair is tousled perfectly and his eyes are alight with excitement and happiness and hope and so, so much love.

Love for Harry.

He’s beautiful. He’s an angel really.

That’s good, Harry thinks, and writes it down in his book. _He’s an angel._

Maybe it’ll turn into a song.

Maybe he’ll write others.

Maybe they’ll be alright.

Maybe.


	4. three

But the thing with Harry and Louis (or Louis and Harry) is whenever they finally think they’re communicating better and getting somewhere at last, one of them, sometimes both, always fucks it up and they end up fighting again. It’s been an endless cycle for many years now.

Take this morning for example. What started as a simple request of ‘what do you want to eat for breakfast?’ ended in tears, accusations and shouts of ‘you never support me!’

To be fair though, if Harry was planning on ordering Louis one of his disgusting green smoothies as well to ‘cleanse him’ as he had put it, he shouldn’t have bothered to ask him what he wanted for breakfast.

The fight ended when Louis emptied the contents of the juice jug onto the unsuspecting Harry’s head before storming off into his room and locking the door again.

They’re okay now though. They made up.

And made out.

Now it’s afternoon and Harry is at the resort’s outdoor restaurant with his band, trying to brainstorm ideas for songs. It’s not going well, needless to say.

“So no one has anything,” Harry says, closing his notebook with a defeated sigh.

“Doesn’t look like it,” replies Sarah, shaking her head. “Sorry H.”

“It’s okay. I’ll figure it out.”

Usually Mitch comes up with good ideas but Louis has roped him in and they’re seated two tables away, discussing animatedly about music.

Mitch is usually a man of few words, but when he’s with Louis, he just blossoms. Louis tends to do that to people, to be honest. His charming and lively personality infects everyone around him, makes them a bit brighter per say.

It’s nice.

But Harry isn’t jealous or anything.

That’s childish.

Okay maybe he is.

But only a little.

Louis sees him watching them and shoots him a small smile. He nudges Mitch who sends Harry an apologetic glance and heads over, Louis in tow.

“Sorry,” he says, dragging a seat over and sitting beside Sarah.

“It’s the Louis effect,” Harry replies then begins to hum lowly.

“Course it is,” Louis replies smugly. “What’s that thing you’re humming?”

“I don’t know actually. It just popped into my mind when I was showering.”

“It’s good.”

Adam’s eyes flit between the couple, observing their words and body language. Louis has unwound the bandana around Harry’s neck and is now twirling it round his hand while Mitch and Sarah talk. Harry meanwhile leans forward and grabs a cherry blossom from the vase on the table and hands it to Louis, a small smile on his face.

“What’s going on with you two?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Are you okay now?”

Louis shrugs. “We’re getting there. We’ve been talking a lot, about when things started going south. We’re still young, got plenty of time. We’ll be fine, right Harry?”

He looks to Harry to back him up, but he’s staring at Louis with narrowed eyes. Suddenly he snaps his fingers, flips open his notebook, and scrawls something down hurriedly.

“Harry?” he asks again.

“Louis listen to this,” he says and begins to sing.

_Sweet creature_

_Had another talk about where it’s going wrong_

_And we’re still young_

_Don’t know where we’re going but we know we belong_

He stops and looks at him in anticipation. “That’s all I’ve got so far. What do you think?”

“Did you just write a song with my words?” Louis asks with a smile.

“Yes.”

“Will I get writer’s credit?”

“No.”

“Of course not.” He peers over Harry’s shoulder into the notebook. “It’s lovely. Melody’s nice.”

After a few more minutes of talking and writing, Harry snaps his notebook shut and taps Louis, who is deep in conversation with Adam this time, on the shoulder.

“Do you want to go somewhere with me?”

“Yeah sure.”

They say goodbye to Mitch and Sarah and Adam and Harry leads them back to their suite and up a tiny winding path beside it. It’s beautiful there, with chirping birds and flowers in every colour under the sun. It’s not too hot either-perfect weather for walking. At the top is a small rickety gate with faded white paint, and Harry pushes this open and parts the tangle of tree vines around it so Louis can pass.

It opens to a high wooden walkway overlooking the sea. Probably on a cliff, Louis thinks. He follows Harry down it and they come to a clearing where he sits down, patting the ground beside him for Louis to join.

“There?” Louis asks, raising an eyebrow. “You sure you won’t push me in?”

Harry rolls his eyes affectionately. “No you twat just sit down.”

Louis obliges and Harry grabs his hand, looping his fingers with his. They don’t say a word to each other, opting instead to stare at the beautiful blue Jamaican sea.

There’s a slight wind wafting, and Louis laughs when it blows Harry’s curls into his face. He flicks it out of his face with his fingers and Harry sticks his tongue out at him playfully.

“It’s getting long again,” Louis says, referring to his hair. “Grows fast.”

He shrugs. “I’ll go get it cut tomorrow.”

“Nooooo,” he practically whines. “Don’t. I miss your long hair.”

“You’re not the one who has to take care of it.”

“Hey I offered to help. You refused.”

“Do you remember what happened the last time you tried to help me with my hair?” Harry asks.

Louis nods. It was one of their nicer, domestic moments, when they weren’t fighting.

He flooded the upstairs bathroom.

Harry’s still a bit pissed about that one.

“Ah well,” Louis says, and lays on his back, forgetting for a moment that he’s wearing a white shirt. It’s so peaceful up here and he’s so sleepy…

Soon he’s drifted into the land of dreams, lips slightly parted and snoring lightly. Harry stares down at him in admiration, tracing his face softly so as not to wake him.

He really does love Louis.

After a while, he flips open his notebook and goes back to the song he was writing.

_“Sweet creature_

_Had another talk about where it’s going wrong_

_And we’re still young_

_Don’t know where we’re going but we know we belong.”_

Harry stops singing and stares down at the page, twirling the pencil in his hand. Where does he go from here?

He thinks and thinks but he can’t come up with anything he likes.

Worry sets in for a moment. What if he can’t write enough songs before the deadline? What if he’s dropped before he can even record the first single? He’d be a joke, a laughingstock.

What if what if what if.

Harry remembers towards the end of the band, when he lost himself for a bit. He’s not too proud to admit that most of he and Louis’ fights were his faults. He was out drinking and partying every night and making bad decisions because everything was just crumbling around him and he didn’t know what else to do.

Louis tried to get him to talk. Brave, lovely Louis, who was dealing with his mum being seriously ill at the same time. But things had gone too far south by then. They were already fighting, so Harry pushed him away, just like he did his friends and his family.

Just as Louis did when Harry tried to talk to him about his mum.

But somehow, Louis, his light and eternal sunshine found a way to bring him home.

“That’s it!” Harry shouts suddenly, causing a flock of birds nearby to take flight in fright. He looks at Louis to see if he has woken, but he hasn’t even stirred. The man can sleep through anything.

He picks up his pencil from where it has fallen down and writes again:

_Sweet Creature_

_Sweet Creature_

_Wherever I go_

_You bring me home_

_Sweet Creature_

_Sweet Creature_

_When I run out of road_

_You bring me home_

After that, the ideas start to flow. He writes about Princess Park, the beginning of their relationship and all the thrills that came with it. He crosses out lines, adds words in, revises whole verses and just generally creates a masterpiece.

Unknown to him, Louis has awoken and is watching him with so much love and adoration. Seeing Harry in his element and honing his craft is such a beautiful sight to behold that it brings tears to his eyes. He’s like a supernova, exploding with everything he has in him and pouring it onto a piece of paper not even big enough to contain the magic that is Harry. He’s stronger than all the forces in the world, brighter than all the stars in the night sky.

He’s a universe.

Harry notices him watching and smiles then walks over to him.

“What’ve you been writing?” Louis croaks, his voice choked with emotion.

He proudly hands him his notebook, watching him in anticipation. Louis’ opinion means the world to him.

“I have no words,” he says simply. “It’s simple and honest and so so beautiful.”

“So you like it?” Harry asks.

“I love it you dipshit,” Louis replies with an affectionate eye roll.”

Harry’s grin fades into a slight frown. He flips back a page and contemplates the lyrics he wrote there.

“I don’t really like the pre-chorus,” he says and hands Louis the book. “Help me?”

“Course.”

He grabs the pencil from his hand, looking at the lyrics through narrowed eyes. He crosses some things out, adds a few things, and then hands the book back to Harry.

“Sing it let me hear.”

_“And oh when we started_

_Just two hearts in one home_

_It’s harder when we argue_

_We’re both stubborn I know”_

He looks at Louis, who motions for him to continue.

_“But oh_

_Sweet Creature_

_Sweet Creature_

_Wherever I go_

_You bring me home_

_Sweet Creature_

_Sweet Creature_

_When I run out of road_

_You bring me home”_

Harry stops singing and claps the notebook shut. “I like it. I’ll take it to Mitch to see what he thinks.”

He stands up and walks to the edge of the cliff, gazing at the deep blue water below him. There’s no barrier here, so he’s at the mercy of gravity.

“You’ll fall,” Louis warns.

He looks back at him, mischief in his eyes.

“Let’s jump.”

Louis is hesitant. “Uhm as much as I enjoy doing things with you, jumping off a cliff is not one of them.” He scoots nearer to the edge and looks over. “That’s at least a thirty meter drop.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “It’s perfectly safe. I’ve done it before.”

“You’ve what?! How many times will I tell you to stop doing dangerous shit?”

“Look who’s talking,” he shoots back. “Come on Lou. Don’t you trust me?”

He looks at Harry, then looks back to the sea below him.

It clearly spells certain doom.

“You do not want me to answer that right now.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“It’ll be fun.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’ll jump with you.”

Louis sighs as the last of his resolve wavers. “Fine.”

They take off their shirts and move closer to the edge of the cliff, staring at the deep blue water. Harry grabs Louis’ hands and intertwines his fingers with his.

“Hey look at me,” he says, trying to reassure his boyfriend. “We’ll be fine, okay?”

Louis stares down at their entwined fingers. “You won’t let go?” he asks.

Harry smiles. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“Then let’s do it.”

“On the count of three.”

“I vote five.”

“Shut up Tomlinson.”

Harry counts to three and suddenly they’re jumping. For a moment Louis feels like he’s flying, without a care in the world.

It’s peaceful.

Then all of a sudden they’re plummeting down into the ocean, hair flying in their faces because of the wind. Louis keeps his eyes open when their underwater, watching as Harry’s face lights up in pure delight as he notices the shoals of small glittering fish swimming past them. Colourful seaweed lines the ocean floor and a stingray floats nearby. His sharp eyes spot a beautiful shell and he dives down the pick it, giving it to Harry as a present. His heart warms when he sees the smile on his face.

Louis did that. Louis made Harry smile.

That hasn’t happened in months.

Eventually they have to come up for air. They play around for a few minutes, splashing each other and kissing and laughing, enjoying their little bubble. But even though it’s a warm day, the water’s freezing and they soon have to get out.

They dry off with their t-shirts and walk back hand in hand to their suite. It’s been a lovely day.

But when they get back, Jeff is waiting for them, arms crossed and shaking his head at them disapprovingly.

Shit.


	5. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drug use in this chapter, just weed though. I redid the tags so you might want to take a look before you continue reading

An hour and thirty minutes later, Harry is seated at the bay window in his room, hugging a blue pillow to his chest and watching waves crash onto the rocks where their suite it. It had started raining a few minutes ago, and the sky had switched from a warm blue to an angry gray. Jagged streaks of lighting spilt the sky in uneven halves and the harsh wind delivers karate chops to the water.

In the midst of all this, Louis is fast asleep, tired out from crying.

Harry tried to sleep as well but the thoughts rammed at his brain, threatening to spill out. His head was too busy and it was driving him crazy.

So he came to watch the storm.

Harry finds the utter chaos that the rain and the wind leave behind strangely comforting. He knows that in a few hours the storm will stop and the clouds will part and children will go play outside and their parents will watch them and the harsh rays of the sun will shine down on the bare skin of the people of Jamaica, him included, once again and turn it a beautiful golden brown instead of the pasty white London weather usually brings.

In short, even though his life is crumbling around him and he sees no way to fix it, life will move on. And he must too.

He opens the window a crack, letting the air outside waft in. It smells of salt and rain. It’s nice.

A movement to the right catches Harry’s attention. His eyes drift over to the sleeping figure of his boyfriend over on his bed, rolling around in his sleep. Louis’ lips are twisted into a frown and small beads of sweat have formed on his forehead. He rolls again and groans slightly. It looks like he’s having a bad dream.

Harry wants to go over to him and comfort him. He wants to gently shake him awake and wipe the sweat off and kiss him a million times and assure him that everything is going to be okay.

But he can't.

He can’t make that promise.

Not when he doesn’t believe it himself.

His phone vibrates for the fiftieth time. Jeff probably, calling to find out how he’s doing. Harry doesn’t want to speak to him right now.

Everything was okay until he had shown up arm in arm with a tall blonde-haired woman and the claim that she was his latest girlfriend.

Bullshit.

Why does this have to happen?

Why does he have to have a new beard every fucking year?

Why does he have to go through the same routine of comforting Louis and holding him as they cry themselves to sleep every time a new relationship is announced?

Why can’t the world just accept that he’s gay and in love with Louis Tomlinson?

Louis had assured him that he’s okay and none of this is his fault but Harry can’t help feeling like it is.

It’s his fault that Louis cried himself to sleep.

It’s his fault that he’s having a nightmare right now.

His fucking fault.

He had switched off all the lights long ago, and now, sitting at the bay window and feeling like no one else in the world is awake but him, all he wants to do is disappear and take Louis with him. Somewhere safe.

And non-homophobic.

Maybe Mars.

He leans head against the glass and closes his eyes for what he thinks is just a few seconds. It turns out to be longer though, because when he opens them again, Louis is sitting in front of him, a sad smile on his lips.

“Louis,” Harry whispers, placing a hand on his cheek to make sure he’s real.

“Yeah,” Louis replies. He grabs the hand and stares down at their intertwined fingers in his lap. “I’m real.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

“Me too.”

Their gazes meet for a moment and suddenly the air becomes tense, filled with words that neither of them are brave enough to say.

Harry’s screaming “I love you,” but he’s also whispering “I’m tired.”

Louis’ screaming “I love you,” but he’s also whispering “I’m tired.”

There’s a space between them, one that’s been there for a while. Usually it’s filled with unspoken harsh words and cutting remarks, but for the first time in a while, it’s empty.

There’s nothing stopping them from bridging the gap.

They’re almost there. All they have to do is try a little harder; wait a little longer.

They’re tired. But they’ll do it.

Eventually Harry tears his gaze away and returns it to the sea. The water is calmer now, and the sky is less angry. Louis gets off the seat for a moment, and returns with two of something. He presses one into Harry’s palm.

Harry stares at the joint in his hand then back at Louis. He raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Louis says with an eye roll. “You’ve had one before. It’ll calm us down. We’ll be fine.”

“I’m not looking at you like that.”

“It’s just weed Harry.”

“I know. I just think we should talk about this instead of getting high.”

“Can we talk and get high?”

Louis’ blue eyes are filled with so much hope that it makes Harry laugh. He shakes his head and stands up. “Fine. But you’re responsible for anything I end up doing in my state of extreme highness.”

That makes Louis laugh

A few minutes later, they’re seated opposite each other on the balcony. It’s cold out there with the rainy air nipping at their skin and turning it a bright red.

Louis flicks the lighter on, but the wind keeps blowing the flame out and it takes a while before he’s able to light Harry’s joint. He hands it to him and lights his own, cupping his hand round the flame to keep it from blowing out.

“Alright then,” Louis says with a weak smile. He takes a drag and Harry watches as thin wisps of black smoke curl out from between his pink lips and escape into the sky.

It’s mesmerizing.

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts and smokes his own joint, letting the weed cloud his senses. Louis watches him with a smile.

“Nice innit?” Harry asks with a dopey smile of his own. The weed’s already begun to take effect.

“Yeah I guess,” he laughs.

“Joint lit, happy days. Zayn came up with that.”

“I don’t think he did,” Louis responds with a raised eyebrow, but Harry’s too high to care.

“You’ve always been a lightweight,” he adds, looking at him with fondness. “With alcohol and with weed.”

“Shush you.”

Yeah Harry’s definitely high.

“So the Camille thing?” Louis begins, becoming somber all at once.

“Oh yeah that.” Harry takes another drag. “I guess we’ll just wait it out.”

Seeing Louis’ shocked expression, he hastily backtracks.

“No I didn’t mean it that way. I just mean that there’s nothing we can do, you know? We’re still under contract. I know it’s shitty but it can’t be helped.”

“Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

“Hmm.”

Defeated. That’s how they feel.

“It’s still shitty though,” Harry concludes.

Louis nods. “You said that already.”

Harry strokes his chin in thought. There’s a bit of stubble there, and he realizes that it’s been a while since he last shaved.

“Oh yeah,” he replies and bursts into a peal of high-pitched drug-induced laughter. Louis rolls his eyes and smiles at him, happy that he’s happy, even though nothing funny was said.

He really does love Harry.

Especially when he’s high.

“You still have Eleanor though,” he says when he’s calmed down. “To deal with, I mean.”

He scoffs, annoyed. “Don’t even mention her right now. I’m trying to have a nice vacation.

“Yeah,” Harry says.

And bursts into laughter again.

Exasperated, Louis reaches over and snatches the joint out of his hand. “That’s enough weed for today.”

“But Louissss,” Harry begs. He’s practically whining at this point. “I wasn’t doneee.”

“First of all it’s Louis not Lewis. Silent s darling. Secondly I think you’re done.”

“But you still get to smoke.”

“Because I’m a responsible adult,” Louis replies, smiling proudly.

Harry’s rosebud mouth twists into a frown. “Are you saying I’m a child?”

“Yes,” he answers, finishing Harry’s joint for him, which the former is firmly against. He makes a grab for it but Louis ducks out of the way and stands so he can’t reach it. Unfortunately Harry is much taller than he is so it doesn’t take much for him to get the joint back. He sits back down with a satisfied smirk and inhales more of the toxic black smoke. Louis frowns at him.

Cheeky sneaky fucker.

Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

Oh well.

He keeps an eye on Harry as he smokes, checking his phone at intervals and pretending to be annoyed when Harry bursts into more peals of high laughter.

No more weed for him. Ever again.

He pockets his phone and stares at the ocean. The storm has subsided now and the waves are much calmer. The sea’s returned back to its natural green-blue and the evening sun is already peeking out from behind a cloud. The sky turns from grey to blue to gorgeous hues of pink and red, until finally the sun disappears below the horizon and the first stars appear.

Louis turns back to Harry, who’s watching him with a sleepy smile and red eyes. He checks the time; six-thirty. They’ve been out here for more than two hours.

“Do you remember the first time you smoked?” Louis asks, smiling at the memory.

Harry thinks for a minute then shakes his head.

“It was one day when we were on tour. Zayn and I were on the steps of our bus smoking, then you walked up and asked if you could try. You were what, nineteen back then?”

“What happened?”

“Well I flat out refused to let you try, but you were so insistent and Zayn wasn’t any help either. You coughed up a storm.”

“And then Zayn laughed,” Harry adds, remembering. “And then you said-”

“‘Oi! What the fuck are you laughing at?’” both boys shout at the same time, then burst into laughter.

“And you vowed never to try smoking again,” Louis concludes.

“No, I vowed never to listen to Zayn again,” he corrects.

“But you always did.”

“Yeah.”

And suddenly Harry bursts out laughing again.

“What is it this time?!” Louis exclaims, finally annoyed.

“Nothing,” Harry giggles. “Just that we look like a couple of drowned rats.”

Louis takes in Harry’s damp hair, matted to his forehead and the waterlogged white t-shirt clinging to his body and showing his tattoos.

He probably looks worse.

He rolls his eyes again. It really is a bit funny.

“Laugh all you want Styles. I’m going to go get some more weed.”

“Can I have more?” Harry asks, and it’s done with so much hope that Louis barks out a laugh at his boyfriend’s behavior.

“Absolutely not. No more weed for you.”

But Harry’s always been good at getting his own way, and pretty soon he’s smoking another joint, tapping his leg in excitement.

Louis still doesn’t know how it happened.

Now they’re both stoned out of their minds and laughing like the whole world is some big joke, even though it is in fact crumbling all around them.

They’re stuck in their own little bubble.

Weed does tend to do that to a person.

It’s nice.

“I’m hungry,” Louis whines when the last of the sunlight has faded and the night sky is filled with thousands of twinkling stars.

“I’ll cook you something,” Harry offers.

“You’re too high to cook.”

“Of course not.”

He stands up to head to the kitchen but falls back down almost immediately on top of Louis in an undignified heap. Louis, meanwhile, is laughing too much to pull the boy off him.

“Alright you,” he finally says, reaching out and holding Harry’s lips to stop his own giggles. “Let’s get in.”

Somehow they manage to haul themselves into the kitchen without sustaining any injuries.

Well mostly. Louis’ pride has been bruised a little.

He flops onto a stool at the island and Harry begins to bring out pots and pans from drawers much to his amusement.

“You’re serious about this?”

“Of course. If my Lou wants a nice home-cooked meal, then a nice home-cooked meal he shall get.”

“I just said I was hungry. I didn’t ask you to cook.”

“Well I’m cooking anyway.”

“Please don’t burn down our suite.”

Harry sticks his tongue out at him and begins working. He opens a packet of spaghetti and chucks it in a pot of boiling water. He heads over to the fridge and sticks his head in.

“It’s cold here.”

“It’s a fridge. It’s supposed to be cold.”

“Hmmm.”

He brings out some bell peppers, a carrot and an onion, chops them up, then pours them into a pan with some vegetable oil. He stares it round a bit then abandons it, coming to sit beside Louis, who raises an eyebrow.

“Shouldn’t you be watching your food?”

He shrugs. “It’ll be fine. It’s an independent young meal.”

“Riiight.”

Harry becomes engrossed with the image of himself reflected on the surface of the island, poking and prodding it, and sticking his tongue out at it.

“God, you’re so fucking high right now, aren’t you?”

“Nes.”

“Nes?”

“It’s yes and no together.”

Yeah Louis definitely loves Harry.

And Harry definitely is high.

They play footsie under the table for a bit, too occupied to notice the curious smell in the air until the fire alarm starts blaring. Louis and Harry look up at it in astonishment, then their gaze travels to the cooker where Harry’s wonderful meal lays.

“Shit,” they exclaim unanimously and rush over.

The water in the spaghetti pot has completely dried out, and the pasta sticks to the bottom of it. Louis tires his best to scrape it out with a fork but to no avail. Harry meanwhile, tries to swallow back tears as he puts the charred vegetables in the dustbin, then goes to open a window.

“Hey what’s wrong?” Louis asks, noticing his lip quivering.

“I’m sorry Louis. I just wanted to give you a nice meal and now I’ve ruined it.”

He sighs and walks over to Harry, wrapping his arms around him in a comforting hug. He smells of rain and smoke and the usual vanilla. It’s nice.

“Don’t worry H. It’s just pasta.”

“But I wanted to give you a nice meal.”

“And you will. But not now. You just got sidetracked by your own reflection.”

And that makes Harry laugh again.

Louis starts laughing too and then they’re hugging and kissing and giggling and sticking their heads out of the window and swearing that the stars are shining just a bit brighter than usual.

Eventually, they end up ordering pizza from room service and watching old movies that they’ve never seen before until two am, after which they switch to Friends. Harry declares that his favorites are Dead Poets Society and The Breakfast Club and Louis argues that those are probably the worst movies ever made.

Around four thirty in the morning, they drag blankets and pillows out to the balcony and build a sort of fort with the table and the lounge chairs. Louis turns on the flashlight that he brought, and Harry suggests they make shadow puppets.

“What the fuck is that?” Harry asks, pointing at the lump that is Louis’ hands.

“It’s a dinosaur,” Louis answers. “Clearly.”

Sure, clearly.

“That has got to be the ugliest dinosaur I have ever seen.”

“Hey!” he cries in offence.

“It probably caused all the other dinosaurs to go extinct.”

“Okay, okay. Let’s see you do better.”

Harry creates a lump very similar to Louis’ ‘dinosaur’.

“What the fuck is that?” Louis mocks.

“It’s a dinosaur,” Harry says with a grin. “Just like yours. Now it won’t be lonely.”

Louis smiles back. “That’s nice.”

Just then his torch goes off, and the fort is plunged into darkness. Harry’s left his phone inside but he’s too comfortable to go get it, so there’s nothing left to do but go to sleep.

Louis big spoons Harry as usual, even though he’s much taller, and plants kisses on the nape of his neck.

“Goodnight Curly,” he whispers.

“Goodnight Lou.”

Silence. And then…

“I love you,” Louis says out loud for the first time in over a year. He holds his breath, waiting for Harry to respond, but he says nothing. Just as he’s about to give up and close his eyes comes a faint reply.

“I love you too.”

And they both fall asleep with smiles on their faces, contented. It’s a lovely end to one of the best days of their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello darlings i'm sorry for not updating in a week. my exams are coming up and i've been really stressed so i've barely had enough time to write, but i promise i'll have the next chapter up by friday or next week monday. twitter is now @ windyhalo so if you have any questions or concerns you can reach me there.


	6. five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i come bearing apologies

Somehow, with the help of Mitch and Louis, Harry manages to write three more songs before his next meeting with his label. He strides into the board room, journal in hand and a confident smile on his face. He’s early this time, thank goodness, and Louis had kissed him goodbye and wished him good luck before he left.

So yeah, Harry’s quite optimistic.

He’s the first one to arrive, thankfully, so he has a minute to prepare before the record executives and Jeff come in. He flips through his notebook with a smile, pleased with what he’s managed to come up with.

He can’t take all the credit though. Louis is the inspiration for practically the entire album. Every song just screams him and the amount of love Harry has for him, and he hopes that when he hears the album finally, he’ll know.

They had woken up this morning in each other’s arms, and for the first time in forever, Louis didn’t seem repulsed by the sight of him. Progress.

Harry had insisted on making them a lovely breakfast to make up for the spaghetti he had burned a few days ago, even though Louis had protested that it wasn’t necessary.

“Course it is,” a bleary Harry had said with a small smile. “If my Lou asks for breakfast, then my Lou gets breakfast.”

“I didn’t ask for breakfast,” Louis had deadpanned.

“Well too bad. I’m in the mood to cook so let’s go. You’re helping me.”

“I will do no such thing,” he had argued as they entered the kitchen. “You’re the one that said you wanted to cook for me.”

“Fair enough.”

Louis had hoisted himself onto the island while Harry dug in the fridge for ingredients, coming out with a carton of eggs, some milk, and a packet of sausages.

“What are you making?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Oh.”

Silence.

Then…

“Can’t you at least give me a small hint?”

“No,” Harry had said sternly, trying to hide the small smile playing on his lips. “You’ll see it when I’m done.”

More silence.

“Just a teeny hint?”

“Lou, I love you, but if you keep asking me I’m going to give you one of my kale smoothies instead.”

Louis gasped in mock horror, though his heart fluttered at Harry’s words. “You wouldn’t”

“Try me.”

He had stopped asking after that, opting instead to flick through pictures on his phone, laughing whenever he saw one of the both of them and shoving it in Harry’s face so he could see.

“We should print them out,” Harry suggested. “Put them in an album maybe.”

“Maybe.”

After breakfast-“really Harold? Eggs and sausages? That’s what you couldn’t tell me?”- Louis had casually reminded Harry that he had a meeting with his label, sending him into a fit of panic.

“But what if they don’t like the songs Lou?” he had asked while pacing frantically across the living room. “What if they drop me from the label? The first single hasn’t even been released!”

“Harry-”

“Is this it? The end of my solo career? It hasn’t even started yet. I’ll be known as a failure.” He stopped his pacing and looked at Louis, eyes wide with desperation. “I’m a failure, aren’t I?”

After that Louis had jumped off the couch and tackled him to the ground and kissed him and assured him that everything was going to be fine and his songs are amazing and he’s not and would never be a failure as long as he wrote what he loved.

“Yeah,” Harry had agreed with a smile after he managed to push Louis off him. “I guess you’re right. When did you get so smart?”

“I’ve always been smart.”

A snort. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Louis had pummeled Harry for that, and now, two hours later, he’s seated in a board room waiting for a bunch of supposed music experts to walk in and see if they like his stuff. The rest of the band had offered to come for moral support, but this is something he needs to do himself.

The doors open a few minutes later and in walk the executives, cutting powerful figures in sharp suits and grim faces. Jeff follows close behind, sighing in relief when he notices Harry seated on one of the chairs, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

There’s a brief exchange of handshakes then the files are opened and they get down to business.

“So Mr. Styles,” the old lady, whose name he learns is Danielle begins, sliding her glasses up the bridge. “We assume that you have something to show us today?”

“I do,” Harry replies comfortably, reaching for the black guitar he brought with him. “If you’ll just sit a moment I’ll play for you.”

And so he begins. He plays every word he’s written, every note he’s proud of, and his face lights up when he sees their expressions. They smile in delight at the first notes of Sweet Creature, bob their heads back and forth to the psychedelic tunes of Woman, and he even notices Danielle dab at her eyes as he plays the last verse of Two Ghosts.

That’s the wonderful thing about music, Harry thinks. With words and a melody you can melt the hardest heart, bring joy to the saddest soul. You can make people laugh and cry and fall in love. Music’s a language all on its own, and it can speak to everyone.

So yeah, he loves music.

All in all it’s a great success.

Until he gets to Kiwi, that is.

Truth be told, Harry hasn’t told Louis about this song, because it’s about a sore subject: his supposed child. It’s something that has gone unspoken between them ever since that night they walked out at Belfast, ever since what Niall had deemed ‘the stunt to end all stunts’ was announced. It’s painful, it’s jagged, and Louis absolutely refuses to talk about it because it hurts so much. Harry just goes along with it because he wants him to be happy, but it doesn’t help because it hurts him too. He just doesn’t feel obligated to talk about it because the stunt wasn’t to do with him mostly.

So he wrote about it. He turned all his sadness and anger and pain about it into harsh cries and a loud melody. He’s hoping that the executives hate it, that they deem it unfit for his first album, for his second, for his third, and declare that they never want to hear of it again and he should burn the paper it was written on.

Harry plays the last notes to the song, then drops the guitar beside him and stares at Danielle and Jacob in apprehension, waiting for their reaction.

They like it. They like it a lot.

“Marvelous,” Jacob declares with a smile. “They’re all wonderful, of course, but I think the last one’s my favourite. It’s so honest and open and raw. What did you call it again?”

“K-Kiwi,” Harry stutters. His face has paled considerably, much to Jeff’s alarm, and he can barely form a coherent sentence. All he can think is _Louis Louis Louis_ and _He’ll hear this_ and _I’m so dead._

“Harry?” A snap of Danielle’s fingers pulls him out of his thoughts.

“Yes ma’am?”

“We were saying how impressed we were with what we’ve heard so far.”

“Oh thank you.”

“We’re thinking three four singles from this. You can choose what you want the others to be, but Kiwi must be on the list.”

Oh. So it’s going to be a fucking single as well.

He’s doomed.

“I think that’s all?” Jacob says, looking to Danielle for confirmation.

“Yes that’s about it,” she replies and stands. “We’ll have another meeting in about two weeks’ time to see where things are headed. Jeff, we’ll be in touch.”

Just as the door’s about to swing shut behind them, she smiles sweetly at Harry. Congratulations Mr. Styles. You’ve managed to impress me. Not many people can do that.”

***

He can’t quite remember when he got out of his seat and left the boardroom, but somehow Harry finds himself in front of his suite door, his hand poised to knock when he remembers himself. He fishes his keycard out of his pocket and pushes the door open, hoping with all his heart that Louis is asleep.

His heart fails him, of course. Louis is seated on the couch, watching some sort of football match with a can of coke in hand. He grins when he spots Harry and mutes the television.

“You’re back,” he says brightly. “How did it go? They liked your songs didn’t they? I told you they would.”

This should be the point where Harry tells him that he’s written a song about the Unspeakable. He should tell him that the label wants it to be a single and he’s sorry that he didn’t tell him and he knows he’s fucked up, but he promises he’ll do anything to make it right again.

He doesn’t.

Harry figures that Louis is happy now. He’s happy. Their relationship is slowly getting better. Why ruin it with something that’s already happened? It’s only going to make things worse.

“Yeah they loved it,” he answers, and flops down beside him. “You were right.”

“I’m always right,” Louis replies smugly.

He’ll tell him one day. It’s the right thing to do. But right now, as he snuggles on the couch with Louis, who’s looking at him like he painted all the stars onto the sky, he couldn’t care less about doing the right thing.


End file.
